


In the Flesh

by flecksofpoppy



Series: Poppy's Adventures in Night Ficcing [26]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Kissing, Bisexual Jean Kirstein, M/M, Summer Love, Swimming Pools, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean has a sexual awakening one summer during his job as a lifeguard, and a reality check the next. Dreams come true or change, but for Jean, both options are good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fujoshichan69](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fujoshichan69/gifts).



> Tumblr prompt was: "Hi see you at the pool and I love your body and try not to be obvious when I ogle you in the showers"

Jean’s mother had always taught him: treat other people the way you want to be treated.

Although this conventional wisdom is generally a decent guiding principle, Jean finds it doesn’t work out so well in moments of Ass Ogling.

Namely, the guy at the local pool that Jean has been casting sidelong glances at even as he had tried desperately not to. 

It all started when he landed a summer job as a lifeguard. All the kids in a ten mile radius would flock to the public pool to escape the heat. Jean’s mother had been taking him since he was small. He’d had swimming lessons there at five, gotten in trouble for taking a plunge off the high dive at eleven, and at seventeen become a lifeguard.

And that’s where he’d first spotted Freckly Hot Guy.

It was between his junior and senior year of high school that, one unassuming July afternoon, there was a commotion at the shallow end of the pool. It was a mish-mash of splashing and shouting, and in response, Jean had given his whistle three short, angry shrieks.

It was always the fucking kids that caused problems, and the last thing Jean needed was some kindergartener swallowing chlorine on his watch.

“Hey!” he’d barked, jumping out of his chair, only to have a tall guy wearing a speedo turn around with wide, dark eyes.

A hot, tall, freckly, bronzed god of a guy.

“Um…” Jean had floundered for a minute, but then regained his composure and continued scowling. “No splashing!”

Freckly guy gave a funny, nervous little half-smile. “Sorry,” he’d replied, grabbing two kids next to him who looked like they’d been hatched from a pod, “we were just playing. We won’t splash anyone.” He turned a stern eye to a kid who was unmistakably his brother, and the recipient of the stare shrank back. “Right?”

“Uh huh!” came the declaration as Freckly Kindergartener nodded vigorously at Freckly Hot Guy. “Sorry.”

“Right,” Jean had finally said, tearing his eyes away from the mesmerizing form of the guy’s shoulders. “Uh, just stop splashing.”

They had indeed stopped splashing, Jean had climbed back onto his white plastic chair perch, and the sun had continued to beat down.

However, he was barely watching since he was desperately channeling all of his energy into not looking at Freckly Hot Guy.

It went on all summer, until finally through circumstance, he learned the name was Marco (aka rambunctious Freckly Kindergartener yelling “Marco” across the pool).

That was also the summer Jean first realized the extent of his own sexuality. Before then, he’d always been awkward when he liked someone. There was one very embarrassing moment in ninth grade when he’d dated Mikasa Ackerman for exactly one week, before they’d mutually decided that it wasn’t working. Mostly, though, it was because Mikasa was so busy with honors classes—not to mention, very hard to read—that any fantasy image Jean had formulated of her vanished very quickly. It was one experience that taught him about the difference between the dream and the reality. And he really didn’t mind in the long run, considering that Mikasa had become one of his closest friends by junior year.

But that summer showed him something else, because envisioning “Marco” as a dream was totally fine, and safe. He loved making up scenarios in his head that he jerked off to—sauntering up to Marco and asking Freckly Hot Guy out, which earned the response of a swoon.

The fantasies became increasingly risqué, though, until Jean was blushing so hard at his own filthy thoughts during one jerk-off session in his dark, air-conditioned bedroom that he could barely focus on orgasming.

Marco—theoretical Marco from the public pool, with the water splashing against his strong shoulders in the sun and warm voice calling out to his siblings—helped Jean realize just how much he liked guys. Or, at the very least, introduced the idea in a way that extended beyond, “It’s cool if you’re gay, dude.” (One such statement he’d actually uttered to Armin Arlert, who had just stared at him, and then shrugged, apparently satisfied with this reaction after he had somewhat nervously come out to Jean.)

Regardless of Jean’s bisexual awakening, though (and “bisexual” was the word he eventually put to it), time continued on. The summer ended, Marco went on with his life wherever it was he attended school, and Jean’s mind quickly turned to finals and college applications.

By the time the next summer had rolled around, Jean had forgotten all about Marco, until one fateful afternoon.

It was Jean’s last summer vacation before he embarked upon his first year of college—a future that he was privately nervous about—and he kept telling his friends he was going to do something “really batshit crazy” before he was chained to his freshman dorm studying.

“Um, Jean?” Mikasa had said, raising a delicate eyebrow at him in that rational way that drove him nuts, since she always managed to out-reason him. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do your first year of college?”

“You think I’m gonna waste an ass load of cash fucking around at school?” he’d demanded. “Hell no, I’m going to do the crazy shit when I’m still free.”

How convenient that Marco—bronzed god Marco from the summer before—had regularly started visiting the public pool again.

Unfortunately for Jean, Mikasa had joined him as a lifeguard for extra cash before she went off on her gap year, and she also happened to be very observant.

“Oh,” she’d said immediately when Marco—who Jean had done a double take at the first day the pool opened—had walked through the door from the changing rooms, “is that the guy?”

He’d cursed at her under his breath; she’d openly laughed.

And now, here they are: fantasy sex god in the pool, swimming around and having a grand old time by himself on the first day of summer, and Mikasa staring at Jean out of the corner of her eye with poorly hidden amusement.

“I told you about that _once_ ,” he hisses out of corner of his mouth. “How the hell do you remember that shit?”

“You told me you were attracted to some guy who you’d never met,” she replies neatly, folding her hands in her lap, face perfectly neutral behind her heart-shaped sunglasses.

It’s time to switch tactics.

“What are those sunglasses?” Jean scoffs, poking her slightly in the arm and ignoring her astute observation about Marco.

Mikasa appears unfazed and just snorts a little at his weak jab. “Sasha gave them to me as a joke for senior prom instead of a corsage. She didn’t think I’d actually put them on.”

Jean raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Um…”

Mikasa’s lips quirk. “I wear them every day to shame her audacity.” She reclines nimbly in her chair, tilting her face up to the sun, dark hair shining mesmerizingly. She’s so pretty, it’s intimidating.

Nonetheless, Jean rolls his eyes; those two are so weird.

“Weird.”

“Do you even know his last name?”

Jean groans and buries in face in his hands, shaking his head and refusing to engage in this painful conversation further.

He is so over Marco—fantasy sex god Marco, random guy-at-the-pool Marco, Marco without a last name, Marco with really amazing eyes.

“You’re staring again.”

_Fuck._

Jean takes the heart-shaped sunglasses and puts them on without a hint of shame, and Mikasa lets him. She laughs for a full half-hour, of course, but allows him to hide his wandering eyes since he’d rather wear heart-shaped sunglasses than risk being caught staring at Marco.

This goes on for two weeks, until one day, Jean finds himself trapped.

It’s in the showers in the locker room, and holy shit, the scene he finds just as he steps out of one of the changing stalls is a sight to behold, not to mention uncannily similar to some of the previous summer’s fantasies.

Marco is standing under one of the shower heads, letting the water pour over his head and shoulders, streaming down his defined chest and masculine hips, the strong muscles of his thighs and…

“Oh no,” comes a familiar voice, “did Max do something wrong?”

Jean blinks, his breath stuttering as he wrenches his head so hard it puts a crick in his neck to stop staring. “Wha-what?”

“Sorry,” Marco replies, giving Jean a little smile and turning off the water to the shower, “you were just standing there… I thought my little brother got caught splashing again or something.”

“Um…”

Marco cocks his head to the side, a few rivulets of water tracking down his cheek amidst the freckles, and Jean’s eyes nearly cross. He’s so desperately attracted to this person, even in the flesh and not in a dream, that it’s dizzying.

“You’re the lifeguard, right?” Jean makes a dumb noise that sounds like he didn’t hear. “Jean?”

“You know my name,” Jean manages to croak. “Uh…”

“Yeah,” Marco replies, looking bemused and laughing a little, “you’re wearing a nametag, and I’ve heard you say it.”

Marco’s close now, and Jean suddenly wonders if this is how guys flirt. Is it different? Is it expected that you’re just supposed to act on impulse? Is it like in the movies where everything is clandestine and guys just make out in secret in bath houses?

Jean considers all of this as Marco stands there, water dripping off him like a wet dream, looking a touch confused.

Nonetheless, Jeans decides he’s going to make good on his promise—an excellent excuse to do it—and awkwardly takes a step forward and presses his lips against Marco’s.

He’s expecting fireworks, a scene from a movie where they passionately embrace, the instantaneous sexual chemistry of two strangers who feel the wordless connection, the—

“Whoa!” Jean is shoved away, and Marco jumps back several feet. “Um… Jean?”

“I’m sorry!” Jean immediately cries, stumbling back. “I thought…”

Marco just stares at him in shock.

“I think you’re really hot,” Jean starts to babble, “and I’ve been watching you since last summer, and uh, I’ve never kissed a guy.” He tells himself to stop talking, but it doesn’t work. “I know you’re probably straight, and I’m really sorry to just… do that, and I can’t stop staring, even though that’s creepy.”

Marco’s mouth is now hanging open.

“And it’s not that I give a fuck what people think of me or whatever, but uh,” Jean’s mouth is moving, and at some point, he’s simply no longer aware of what he’s saying.

However, he does eventually stop rambling, and is met with a few painful beats of silence.

But then, to his surprise, Marco smiles a little.

_Smiles._

“So, listen…” he starts calmly, as if Jean hadn’t just spilled all his secrets in the messiest, most embarrassing way possible, “first of all, I don’t kiss people I don’t know.”

“Sorry,” Jean starts again, shaking his head, “that wasn’t cool… I…” Marco holds his hand up to halt the apology, and Jean’s mouth snaps shut.

“Second of all,” he continues smoothly, “I noticed you too last summer.” He raises an eyebrow, and then nods in the direction of the lockers for Jean to follow him as he goes to retrieve a towel.

They walk the short distance together, and Marco grabs a green, fluffy towel. He rubbs his hair vigorously—his dark hair that matches his dark eyes—while Jean stands there awkwardly.

“Did you count how many times you had to whistle at Max to stop splashing?” he asks after a moment as he rubs the towel up and down his shoulders and arms.

“Uh…” Jean stammers, trying to think about anything except Marco’s collarbones and the pleasant timbre of his voice.

And the now very-dismaying reality that this guy is also legitimately nice, and the type of person Jean would definitely hang out with, wet dream fodder or not.

“At least fifty times,” he continues, snorting a little. “That’s about once per day.”

Suddenly, a little irritation creeps into Jean’s memory, and it does all come back. “Yeah,” he finally admits as Marco pulls a t-shirt over his head, “your brother’s a little… um…” _A little shit._ “A little too into splashing.”

“I was splashing.”

Jean blinks; Marco grins a little.

“What?”

“I was splashing, and I was hoping that one of those days, you’d come over and talk to me,” he says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “I was a little confused last summer, and you were, um… really hot.”

“Wait, are you fucking with me?” Jean falters, suddenly feeling sick and grasping at straws. “Did Mikasa put you up to this?”

Marco’s eyebrows raise, and he puts both hands up as if to signal his surrender. “No!” he exclaims. “Is she your friend? The new lifeguard?”

Jean eyes him warily for a moment, but he appears to be telling the truth. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“I’m not a bullshitter,” Marco reassures him, and then to Jean’s chagrin and (admittedly delighted) embarrassment, Marco plucks off the sunglasses Jean forgot were perched on his head and looks at them carefully. “Besides, that’s pretty shitty to do to someone.”

And then, to Jean’s absolute shock, Marco _puts on the sunglasses_ and just smiles.

“How do I look?”

What is with this guy? Besides being hot, of course.

“Kind of doofy,” Jean finally manages, searching Marco’s face for his motive, but finding none.

“You’re kind of doofy, too, Jean.” Before Jean can get angry, though, Marco continues, “And I’d really like to hang out with you, so you won’t be a stranger.”

It doesn’t escape Jean that Marco had said he doesn’t kiss strangers; but apart from that, Jean is very quickly preferring real life Marco to fantasy Marco.

“Did you wear that speedo to flirt with me, too?” Jean blurts out, staring down, though it’s more out of secondhand embarrassment for Marco’s choice of swimwear than any other reason.

Marco blushes a little, and he immediately looks down. “Uh, no… it was in the clearance bin, which is what we usually do for swimwear.” He smiles a little again, his mouth quirking adorably. “Did I mention I have six siblings?”

There’s another short silence as Marco continues to dry off, apparently waiting for Jean to speak again

“Do you want to…” Jean trails off

The ability to speak leaves him, and he can feel the panic start to set in. It’s like Mikasa all over again, with his awkward compliments when he was fourteen, trying to be smooth and failing miserably. But now he’s eighteen and he should be better at this. He shouldn’t be blushing, he shouldn’t be trying to avoid Marco’s eyes, and he _definitely_ shouldn’t be feeling like the most ballsy thing he’s doing before college isn’t making out with a stranger, but simply asking a guy out.

“I’d love to,” Marco says warmly, his smile wide now. “If you’re…”

Suddenly, all the filthy sex fantasies pale in comparison to this moment.

“Yeah, I’m asking you out,” Jean replies brusquely, reclaiming Mikasa’s heart sunglasses and slipping them into his pocket. “Like, for dinner. Or something.”

A few weeks later, when they kiss in the locker room after Jean’s shift ends, Marco doesn’t pull away.


End file.
